


Goodnight, Dork

by Everren



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (the secret passageway is a metaphor for the force bond), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Condoms, Cousin Incest, Cousincest, Demisexual Ben Solo, Eye-fucking over the toothpaste, F/M, First Time, I meant for this to be more of a romcom and then it just got angsty and soft, Incest, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, Rey has a plan, Safe Sane and Consensual, Secret Crush, Secret Passageway, Secret Relationship, Sexy Times, Soft Ben Solo, Underage Drinking, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Virgin Ben Solo, Virgin Rey (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29621301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everren/pseuds/Everren
Summary: Cousins Rey and Ben have always had a special bond. A special bond and a secret passageway.Now as they enter adulthood, their childhood comforts are taking on a new significance, and it’s one that’s loaded with taboo.They’re faced with a single question: what do you do when the one person you want is the only one you can’t have?
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 58
Kudos: 210





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/everren327/status/1362178951792242689?s=20). Please come and say hi!
> 
> Thanks to [infinitegalaxies](https://twitter.com/infintgalaxies?s=20) for her horny bathroom inspiration.

  


* * *

Rey is five when her cousin Ben comes to live with them. They say he has anger issues, but he never gets angry with her.

By the time she's seven, they have a routine. He always reads her one of his comics at bedtime, before she crawls back to her own room through the passageway in the eaves which connects them.

When she's ten, he's fifteen and far too cool to hang out with her anymore. He prefers to play Xbox with his friends than read comics with his little cousin. He always leaves one out for her, though, just behind their secret door. 

Sometimes he sticks a post-it to it.

"Goodnight, dork."

When she's thirteen, he goes to college. The little door in the corner of her room likes to mock her. She decides to move her dresser in front of it. It's heavy, and she strains her wrist trying to heave it across the carpet, but she's stubborn and stronger than she looks.

When she's sixteen, he comes home for the holidays and shows her how to climb down the drainpipe outside his old window. He makes her promise she'll use her newfound knowledge wisely.

"No dating little dickheads who don't deserve you. You're easily worth a million of them, dork."

He helps her pull her dresser back to where it used to be. It's much easier with two pairs of hands.

That night, they fall asleep together on his bed, watching old superhero movies. It's a tight fit when she has to crawl back to her own room at three AM. She's not ten years old anymore.

He moves back home when she's seventeen. Graduate jobs don't pay very well, apparently.

He's awake when she climbs back in through his window one night. The sound of a suped-up engine disappearing along the street makes him scowl.

"I thought we agreed ‘no dickheads’?"

She rolls her eyes, her cheeks flaring hot. "Shut up."

"You're lucky I don't tell Luke."

"You wouldn't."

"I will if you keep seeing that asshole."

She hadn't realized it was possible to crawl stroppily, but it is, and she manages to on the way back to her room through the eaves. She doesn't see the asshole again though.

The night before her eighteenth birthday, she gets drunk with her friends. She nearly slips as she climbs back up the drainpipe. He catches her hand and helps pull her inside.

"Thanks."

"You were making a racket." He’s trying to be stern but there’s laughter in his eyes.

She sits down on his bed—the world has gone a bit spinny.

"Good night?”

She lays back with a happy sigh. "The best."

She wakes up on her birthday with a hangover and his big, warm body stretched out beside her on top of the covers. It's the first time she's ever crawled back to her own room to the sound of the dawn chorus.

As the weeks go on, she finds she's using the eaves passage more and more, and the drainpipe less and less. They have a new nightly routine now: movies and junk food beneath the duvet. Sometimes they fall asleep together and wake in the small hours with their limbs entwined.

One night, she wakes a little before dawn to the feel of his arms wrapped around her and his cock poking her in the ass. She wriggles away, but not as quickly as she knows she should have. 

He doesn’t date. She’s never really noticed that before but she does now. She wonders why.

The eaves door is not really a door, so she’s never felt the need to knock on it before crawling into his room. She realizes that was probably a mistake on the night when she opens it to the sight of him naked at his desk, furiously pumping his cock with his fist.

She beats a hasty retreat and they don’t watch a movie that night. If he knows why, he doesn’t say anything. She’s glad. She doesn’t want to think about the way her body reacted to the sight, or how hard she cums later, replaying the memory with her fingers on her clit.

She plans to avoid him. She tells herself she will. 

She fails.

She only makes it until eleven o’clock the next night before she misses him too much. The carpet burns her knees as she crawls through the eaves to his room.

This time, she knocks.

"Come in, dork."

He's sprawled out on his bed, all long and lean and muscly. She wets her lips and joins him.

They watch Along Came a Spider. She can't follow the plot. She's too busy shifting her way closer to him, millimeter by millimeter. By the time it's over, she's curled against his chest.

"Wanna watch something else?"

She shakes her head.

"You wanna go back to your room?"

She shakes her head.

He wraps his arm around her and gets his head comfy on the pillow. She lays her cheek against him. She likes the way his chest rises and falls with every breath.

“Goodnight, Ben.”

"Goodnight, dork."

His words echo through her dreams, just like they've echoed through her life. 

When she wakes, there's a hundred and sixty pounds of man draped across her. He's hot, and she wriggles, trying to get some air. He just pulls her closer, crushing her face into him. She grins.

He's gone by the time she wakes up in the morning. It's weird, waking up alone in his bedroom.

She's just crawling out of the eaves into her own room when there's a knock on her door. She dives into her bed to hide yesterday's crumpled clothes.

"Yeah?"

"You need a lift to school today?" her dad asks, sticking his head around the door.

"No, thanks." She tries not to look guilty, although she pulls her duvet higher around her chin. She reminds herself that she doesn't have anything to feel guilty for. 

Ben comes home late on Friday night. She is waiting on his bed when he gets into his room, a movie already playing on his tv. He smells of beer, cigarettes, and someone else’s perfume.

She feels an irrational pang of jealousy.

“I’ll just go, shall I?” She tries to stand up, to dart back into the eaves, but he flops down beside her and pulls her tight against him.

“Don’t.”

She nibbles her lip, then turns into his embrace. His arms are warm and her own bedroom is cold. She burrows against him, getting comfortable.

“Where were you?”

“Just out.”

“With who?”

“Only friends.”

She pouts despite herself, the tell-tale smell of perfume hanging between them in the silence.

“They were just people from work,” he says softly into her hair. “No one special.” 

They’re quiet for a long minute. The movie plays on.

“Is there… anyone special?” she asks, her voice small.

“Yes,” he says. Her stomach plummets, but he gives her a squeeze. “You’re someone special, you dork.” 

It sounds like the kind of thing he used to say to make her feel better as a kid when he was ditching her to play Halo, but she thinks he sounds... nervous. She doesn’t know what to make of it. She just swallows and trains her eyes on the tv screen, listening to the thud-thud of his heart close to her ear.

She crawls back to her own room when the movie’s over. She wants some space to think.

The next night, Saturday, she plans to sneak out to meet her friends. He’s sitting at his desk when she knocks and comes out of the crawl space.

“You look nice,” he says, looking at her out of the corners of his eyes. She smiles.

She perches on the edge of his bed to wait for the sound of an engine in the street outside. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Out,” she replies.

He gives her a dry look. “With who?”

She grins. She’s enjoying this. “Just friends.”

He takes a deep breath and turns back to his laptop, looking sulky. After a moment, though, he shuts the screen and joins her on the bed, reaching for the tv remote.

“Wanna watch something while you wait?”

She shrugs. She doesn’t have anything better to do.

She settles beside him against the pillows, their arms touching. He puts Pulp Fiction on. It’s one of her favorites. She loves Tarantino.

It’s about fifteen minutes before they hear the car pull up outside. 

“I gotta go,” she says, sitting up. He nods. She shuffles to the edge of the bed, giving him the opportunity to ask her to stay, but he doesn’t.

He’s asleep when she climbs back in through his window three hours later. She’s cold and seeing her friends wasn’t as much fun as she’d thought it would be. They’d hung out at the twenty-four-seven McDonald's drive-thru, drank spiked milkshakes, and talked about boys she isn't interested in. She wishes she’d stayed with him.

Shedding her jacket and shoes, she crawls beneath the covers behind him, curling around his broad back. He’s like a furnace. Soon she’s warm again. 

In fact, it isn’t long before she’s too warm.

She could go find her own cool sheets, but instead, she wriggles out of her jeans and sweater. He sleeps in a t-shirt and underwear, so why shouldn’t she?

The movement must disturb him because he rolls over, trapping her against his chest.

“Did you have fun?” He sounds sleepy and gruff.

She sighs. “Not really.”

“Hmm.” He buries his nose in her hair. “I‘m sorry.”

She slides her arm around his middle and nudges her leg between his knees, cuddling close.

“Ben?”

“Mmhm.”

She hesitates. “What did you mean when you said I was special?”

He’s quiet. She worries that he’s fallen back asleep, but then he says, “You’re the other half of me.” She doesn’t breathe. She’s forgotten how. “You always have been. I’m not me when I’m not with you.”

And now he’s said it, now he’s put it into words like that, it’s obvious. Because she doesn’t feel whole without him either. It’s comforting to have it stated, acknowledged, even if she doesn’t know what to do about it. 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

She must have forgotten to close the curtains when she came in. When she wakes in the morning, sunlight is streaming across the bed. Ben’s arm lies heavy across her waist, his face nuzzled into her neck. His leg has hooked over her calf, and—her breath hitches in her chest when she realizes—he has an erection. His cock feels hot and hard and heavy against her thigh.

She shifts her leg by a degree, pressing up against it. He gives a muffled groan and hugs her tighter.

Her lips are dry. She's sure her panties damp, and her heart is pounding.

“Ben?” He doesn’t respond. “Ben?” She shakes his shoulder.

“No,” he murmurs, rolling further on top of her, sandwiching his cock between their bodies. She can feel his lips on her neck, moving against her skin as he gets comfortable again. He rocks gently against her, mumbling honeyed nonsense, his fingers creeping their way up her ribs beneath her t-shirt. They brush the bottom of her breast through the worn cotton of her bra. It tickles.

“Ben!”

She can tell the moment he comes to. He freezes, every inch of him turning to stone against her. She hears him swallow, then, in one movement, he rolls away to the other side of the bed.

“Shit.”

“It’s okay,” she says, turning after him.

“No, it isn’t.”

She presses her thighs together. “Seriously," she says, her voice low, her cheeks hot, "I liked—”

“Rey, get out.”

He hasn’t called her by her name for years. Maybe even ever. It’s always ‘dork’. She feels like he's slapped her.

She only stops to pull on her jeans and gather the rest of her things before she runs from the room. She uses the door this time, and it slams behind her.#

“Who was slamming doors this morning?” her dad asks over the dinner table that night. Rey keeps her eyes trained on her food.

“That was me,” Ben says. “Sorry.”

She glances at him. He doesn’t acknowledge her, or the lie.

“I thought you’d grown out of slamming doors.”

Ben keeps his eyes lowered.

Luke sighs, sounding disappointed. “If we’re going back to that—”

“I said I’m sorry. Can we drop it?” Ben stands up from the table, his chair scraping, his plate of half-eaten food in his hand. “I gotta go out.”

“Now?” Rey says, looking up. His eyes meet hers and he nods, then he turns and walks away. Luke grumbles. She wants to cry.

He doesn’t come home that night. She listens for him, sat hunched on the carpet outside her end of the eaves passage, but his bedroom stays silent.

He doesn’t come home on Monday either, or Tuesday. Her dad tells her he’s staying with one of his friends from work. It hurts. She thinks about texting him, but she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

He’d told her not to date dickheads. Well, he’s the biggest dickhead of all.

But they hadn’t been dating, had they? Because he’s her cousin. 

He’s doing the right thing by staying away, but that doesn’t stop her wanting to yell at him, shove him, fight him, and tell him to come back home and be the other half of her again.

He must stop by one day while she’s at school because, when she gets home, his door is standing open and his things are gone.

The house feels achingly empty without him. It’s like when he went away to college again, only a thousand times worse.

She thinks about pulling the dresser back in front of the passageway, but instead, she asks her dad if she can swap rooms.

She isn’t sure if it’s better or worse, erasing his presence this way, filling his closet with her clothes, seeing her laptop on his desk, her sheets on his bed. Sometimes she feels like she’s doing penitence.

She starts dating dickheads again, too. He isn’t there to tell her not to.

She doesn’t see Ben again until the holidays.

They always spend Christmas week at the Solos’, but there are only two of them in the car making the three-hour drive upstate this year. Ben is going to meet them there.

She’s quiet the whole way—thoughtful. She has a plan.

She claims the guest bedroom next to the one Ben always uses. They’re connected by a jack-and-jill bathroom.

He gets there late. The family is already seated around the dinner table when she hears him in the hall. He dumps his duffel bag at the foot of the stairs, then comes to kiss his mother on the cheek. Rey watches their body language. It’s always stiff, a bit formal. They aren’t close.

He sits next to Rey, not out of choice but because it’s the only empty place setting. She turns her head to look at him.

“Hi.”

At first, she doesn’t think he’s going to meet her eyes. But then he does, and she can see a maelstrom of emotions in his gaze.

“Hi.”

They don’t talk for the rest of dinner. Ben looks like he’s trying hard to pay attention to his mother. Rey pretends to listen to a discussion about plane engines.

Her eyes keep flicking back to where her hand rests beside Ben’s on the table.

Afterward, Ben excuses himself to go and unpack. She waits a little while longer, then says her goodnights and follows him upstairs.

Once the door of her room shuts behind her, she leans back against it, listening hard. She’s still for a long time, but then she hears it: the sound of Ben moving around in the next room. She lets out a breath. She’d worried he’d choose a different room this time.

She slips out of her clothes and pulls on the pair of black pajamas she’d packed for the occasion. The shorts are loose and end high-up on her thigh. The top is cropped and strappy. They’re covered with a galaxy’s worth of little stars and moons.

She goes into the bathroom and begins to brush her teeth. She doesn’t try to be quiet. Her eyes keep flicking to the door that leads to Ben’s room, willing it to open. She’s about to give up, move to stage two of her plan, when it clicks ajar.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, as if he hadn’t realized she was there. He hesitates, looking unsure about whether he should stay or go. She doesn’t miss the way his eyes glance off the bare skin of her legs and midriff.

“It’s okay,” she says. "Come in.”

He joins her by the sink. He’s brought a toothbrush in with him and he wets it beneath the faucet before beginning to brush. She watches him in the mirror. She’s always thought he has lovely teeth. They’re pointy, uneven, and unique. Each one is slightly different. He only shows them when he smiles, so seeing them is rare—a privilege. Rey knows every one by heart.

They clean their teeth without speaking. Every now and then, their eyes meet in the mirror and sparks fly.

When the tension becomes nearly unbearable, she turns on the tap and lets the water run as she leans over and spits out her toothpaste. She doesn’t try to stop her shorts riding up to her ass. She glances in the mirror as she takes a sip of water from the stream. Ben is looking, his toothbrush frozen in his mouth.

A little smile plays at the corner of her lips as she straightens.

“Goodnight, Ben.”

He spits into the sink and clears his throat. “Goodnight, dork.”

It’s only once she’s back in her own room, the bathroom door shut behind her, that she lets herself fully appreciate how wonderful it feels to be called that again.

The next night is the same.

“Goodnight, Ben.”

“Goodnight, dork.”

She listens at the door while he finishes up in the bathroom. She thinks she hears him come closer. She senses him on the other side of the wood, but then he retreats and his door closes behind him.

She wishes she could go to him, creep through the bathroom like she used to crawl through the eaves, but she doesn’t. For now, the memory of the way his eyes had slid across her skin has to be enough. She makes herself cum to it that night. It’s the easiest orgasm she’s ever given herself.

Then it’s Christmas Eve. Rey is kept busy putting up decorations. She hangs mistletoe in all the downstairs doorways. Ben spends most of the day making trips into town to collect last-minute necessities. He comes and goes through the back door, avoiding all her bushels of green. She doesn’t see much of him until dinner.

He sits next to her again. He’s sat next to her every evening now. He’s quiet like he always is at family gatherings, but he passes her the salt when she asks for it, and he doesn’t move his leg away when her knee brushes his beneath the table. She eats her meatloaf with her heart in her mouth.

He’s already in the bathroom when she goes in to brush her teeth. She joins him at the sink, helping herself to toothpaste, before hopping up to sit on the counter. He glances at her, then looks back at his own reflection. She crosses her bare legs, letting her toes dangle next to his thigh. They lightly brush the denim of his jeans.

He doesn’t react, just bends over and spits out his toothpaste before turning to leave.

She takes the toothbrush out of her mouth. “Goodnight, Ben.”

He pauses in his doorway and she sees his shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath. “Goodnight, dork.”

She wishes she could know what’s going on inside his head, what thoughts are doing battle in his mind, and what it's going to take for her to pacify them.

Not knowing keeps her up.

It’s been Christmas Day for an hour already when she gets up for a drink of water. She doesn’t bother to turn the bathroom light on. She just pads to the sink and runs the faucet until the water grows cold, then bends over and takes a gulp from the stream.

Behind her, she hears Ben’s door open.

At first, she doesn’t move. She keeps lapping at the water. But then she straightens and peers over her shoulder.

Ben is a black, hulking shape in the darkness. It should be menacing, seeing him standing there. He's silent, still, hovering in the open doorway, watching her. But it isn’t menacing. It’s thrilling. She turns off the tap and faces him.

“What is it you’re trying to do?” he asks, his voice gruff, almost angry.

“I don’t know what you—”

“Don’t play dumb. You know.”

She swallows, a shiver darting across her skin.

“Then you know too.” Her voice is a whisper but it carries in the dark bathroom.

Silence.

Hesitantly, she walks towards him until his face materializes out of the shadows. His eyes are fixed on her, wide and hungry. His lips are parted slightly. His hair falls around his face in messy waves as though he’s spent the last few hours tossing and turning rather than sleeping.

She lifts her hand and smoothes a tangle. She sees a flicker of apprehension, but then he leans his face into her hand, his eyelashes fluttering. It looks instinctual, like he can't resist.

Before either of them can second guess it, her palm falls to his chest.

Then she’s on her tiptoes, crushing her lips to his. The way it makes her insides ignite is anything but familial.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

He doesn’t respond. 

And then, all of a sudden, he does. 

His arms close around her, pulling her tight against him. His mouth opens, his tongue forcing its way past her lips, claiming her. She surrenders to it. The sensation is overwhelming. It doesn’t leave any room for thought.

He pushes her backward and they stumble together in the darkness until her back hits the wall. Her fingers are in his hair, twisting, pulling, urging him closer. She presses her body against him. All the lines and curves of him are the same as the ones she memorized, cuddled up to him in his bed, but they feel different now. Her skin is on fire and the pressure of him against her is gasoline. 

His hand lies flat on the wall beside her head, caging her in. The other is gripping her waist. His fingers are curled around her bare midriff, digging into her skin as though he’s holding on for dear life. She reaches down, takes hold of his hand, and guides it up beneath her pajama top, retracing the path it had taken that fateful morning in his bed. It had tickled then, but now his touch is firm, and laughing couldn’t be further from her mind. 

She lifts her leg, curling it around the back of his calf. He presses his hips forward against her and she can feel that he’s hard inside his boxers. It makes a tingle run through her from head to toe.

“Ben,” she says amid kisses. “Ben—” She tightens her fists in his hair, pulling him back enough to speak. His eyes are wild, like a caged beast finally set free. “Not here. Come with me.”

He looks at her blankly, like he doesn’t understand. His chest is heaving with deep, heavy breaths, and his full lips glisten in the faint red glow from the electric razor charging on the counter.

“Come with me,” she says again, pushing against him until he frees her from against the wall. She slips her hand into his and tugs him with her to her bedroom.

When she leads him in, he hesitates in the doorway.

“This is wrong.”

She pauses and glances back at him, frowning. “Do you really believe that?” When he doesn’t answer, her tone softens. “Does it matter?”

“It should,” he says. He sounds like he’s clinging to the last threads of his resolve. 

Her fingers tighten around his and she steps close to him.

“Maybe it matters to them,” she says, inclining her head toward the world outside, “but they’re not us.” 

His jaw rolls silently.

“You’re the other half of me.” She tilts her chin up until her lips brush his. “You always have been.”

He leans into her kiss, like a glacier gradually melting in the spring thaw. His mouth moves against hers, soft and slow. Her eyes flutter shut to the feeling of his hand resting on her hip and the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut behind him.

She wraps her arms around his neck and he lifts her easily, cradling her against him. It feels like the most natural thing in the world. 

Her bedsheets are still rumpled, the way she left them. When he lays her down and moves over her, she pushes them out of the way so she can curl her legs around his waist.

“You sure about this?”

She breaks away from his mouth and pushes him over until he’s lying on his back and she’s sitting astride his hips. “Yes, Ben, I’m sure.”

He’s five years older than her, but he looks young, peering up at her with eyes like saucers, his dark hair fanned out around him on her pillow. She presses a quick kiss to his lips, then sits up and pulls off her top. 

She isn’t wearing a bra and her nipples stand to attention in the cool air.

“Fuck.”

She smiles. Ben’s hands are resting on her thighs; she picks them up and brings them to cover her breasts. They make her feel tiny. They’re so wide, his fingers so long. But his palms are warm and the way he squeezes, gently, reverently, makes heat pool between her legs. 

She tips her hips forward, pressing the seam of her pajama shorts into the thick, hot line of him beneath her. Pleasure ricochets through her, her eyelids fluttering. She does it again. 

Ben groans beneath her. His fingertips find her nipples and he rolls them between the pads, running his thumbs over the little peaks. She starts to wonder how many other girls he’s touched like this—while he was at college, maybe, or when he went out with friends and came home smelling of perfume—but she forces the thoughts away. She doesn’t want to know. It doesn’t matter. She disavows everything that isn’t right here, right now. There is no yesterday or tomorrow, only tonight.

Her fingers are still resting lightly on his wrists, so she tightens her grip, moving one of his hands down to the place where her legs are spread around him. He rotates it, pushing his thumb between them, his palm coming to rest over her mound. When he finds her clit, she lets out a little gasp as sparks run through her.

“Yes,” she breathes, “there.”

He rubs, slowly at first, then a little faster, back and forth, round and round. His eyes make frequent trips between her expression and the point where moisture is blooming across her pajama shorts. She gets the impression he’s studying her. He’s always been a fast learner.

She whimpers and wriggles with every pass of his thumb, biting her lip to keep from crying out. 

She rolls her hips, pressing down against his erection. It’s like riding a rod of iron. There’s no give at all. She doesn’t understand how blood and tissue can feel so much like something that could slay her.

She wants to see it.

She shifts backward down his thighs and tugs on the waistband of his boxers. He lifts his hips to help her get them off him. 

When his cock springs free, she can’t help but stare. She thought she’d got a good look at it when she’d walked in on him jerking off. She realizes now that she hadn’t. It’s beautiful. Terrifying, but beautiful. It lays against his stomach amid a thatch of black curls, all flushed skin and raised veins. She licks her lips.

He puts a hand down and covers it, looking embarrassed, but she lifts it away and wraps her own around him instead. His skin is silky and warm. She runs her fingers over him, learning the shape and feel of him. Ben tips his head back against the pillow, giving a long, low groan. It makes her grin.

She tightens her grip, pumping her hand faster, trying to remember the way she’d seen him do it. 

“Not—” He sucks in a sharp breath and covers her hand with his, slowing her down. “Not so hard. Let me show you.”

He guides her palm along the length of him in long, luxurious sweeps. Up. Down. Up. Down. It’s breathtakingly erotic, their fingers laced together around his cock. She can feel herself growing wetter by the second.

“Good?”

“So fucking good.”

She beams. She’s always been a sucker for Ben’s praise.

She leans forward and kisses him over the top of their joined hands. It’s sloppy and clumsy. She giggles against his mouth and she can feel him smiling too. Her teeth find his plump bottom lip and give a little nip. 

He grunts, and then she’s suddenly on her back and he’s looming over her, kissing her hard, swallowing the laughter in her throat. She abandons his cock and curls her fingers around his neck instead while her tongue dances with his. 

His hand is on her body again, moving down her stomach and pushing beneath the waistband of her shorts. His fingers glide easily between her labia. Her breath catches and she pulls away from Ben’s kiss, throwing her head back on the pillow.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, keep going.”

He moves his hand deeper until he finds the entrance to her cunt. She presses up against him, urging him on. Slowly, he pushes one long, thick finger inside her. A little breath huffs past her lips. She turns her face into his cheek, her back arching from the bed. 

At first, his movements are hesitant as he pumps his finger in and out of her, but he quickly learns what she likes and, before long, she’s unraveling under his touch. 

She’s close to her peak when he pauses. She wants to scream at him to carry on, thump him like she used to do when they were kids and he was being a dick, but then she realizes that he’s shifting position so that he can touch her clit with his thumb again. Her heart flutters, her cunt clenches, and she knows she’s lost.

Her whole body trembles as she cums. She clings to him, pressing her face into his burly shoulder until she sees stars, biting down hard on her lip. 

His finger stills inside her as she drifts down from her high, as though he’s not quite sure what to do with it now. She feels boneless. Floating. But she reaches down between them to lift his hand to her lips. His middle digit glistens, slick to the knuckle, and it tastes of her when she presses little kisses to the tip.

Clutching his palm to her chest, she takes a long, deep breath, then opens her eyes to find his. The wonder she sees in them, hovering above her, makes her sure of what she's about to say.

"Ben, I want you to fuck me now."


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

“Okay.”

“Okay?” She blinks, her eyebrows raised.

He nods. “Yeah, okay. If you want me to.”

“Do _you_ want to?”

He gives a rueful laugh. “Believe me, Rey, I want to.” His tone is harassed, as though the idea has been plaguing him for a while. She wonders how long. Since the morning he’d thrown her out of his room? Since he’d said she was special? Since her birthday? Before? 

Her cunt flutters, feeling empty now it’s devoid of his finger. She wants it filled again.

She pushes him back and he kneels up between her knees. His cock stands between them, a proud column, weeping pearly pre-cum from its tip like a promise. The beads of moisture soak into his black t-shirt where it’s draped around the shaft.

Rey rises to one elbow and pushes the t-shirt up his stomach. He realizes what she wants and shrugs out of it, leaving him bare. 

He’s beautiful. She’s always thought so, but it’s hard not to notice it now. A shaft of moonlight cleaves between the curtains and paints a silver stripe across his pale skin, illuminating a scattering of moles and the odd scar here and there from his days of getting into fights at school. His chest is broad and firm. His arms are thick and strong from the hours he spends at the gym before work. He’s filled out a lot in the last few years; he’s almost unrecognizable as the long, lanky teenager who’d chased her around the yard with a nerf gun. She’d noticed it happening, obviously, but for the first time, she allows herself to fully acknowledge the fact that Ben is really fucking hot.

Her heart leaps into her throat and she lays back on the bed, drinking him in. He presses his lips together. He looks nervous. Doesn’t he know he has nothing to be nervous about?

His fingertips brush her stomach, featherlight and maddening—unintentionally so, she thinks. She gets the impression that, despite his headstart in years, he’s hardly a seasoned pro when it comes to sex. 

She breathes in, then lifts her hips and rolls away her shorts. Wordlessly, he helps her pull first one leg, then the other, out from either side of her drenched gusset. He tosses the pajamas away, and then it’s just them. 

“How do you want me?” she asks, coyly bending her knees and letting them rest together at his chest. Her shins dangle down against his stomach.

He runs his hands reverently down either side of her thighs, his eyes skipping across her skin. “I don’t mind. What do you like?”

She laughs, lifting a hand to nibble at her finger. “I don’t really know.”

Comprehension dawns on his face. “You haven’t…”

She shakes her head, studying him. He’s quiet, and apprehension creeps through her like fingers of ice.

“Is that… a problem?”

He snorts. “I’d be a massive fucking hypocrite if that was a problem for me.” He looks down at her, his eyes wary and his jaw a tight line.

She shakes her head, but then it clicks and she gasps.

“You don’t need to make a big thing about it,” he mumbles quickly.

Of course, she’d noticed he didn’t seem to date, but she’d assumed he wasn’t the relationship type. She'd thought that, perhaps, other people—people who didn’t know him the way Rey knows him—were put off by his gruffness or those old rumors about his temper. But...

“Why?” 

He shrugs. “I never wanted to.” She frowns, confused. “I never found the idea particularly appealing, until…” He trails off. His fingers are still running up and down her legs. 

And she understands. It's her. Until her. Her stomach bobs on a wave of pride, and her face splits into a smile.

She parts her knees and reaches for him. He comes to her, lowering his hips between her thighs. She wraps her legs around him, holding him close while his lips find hers. Their kiss is made of desire and affection and resolve. 

Ben’s cock rubs her thigh, nudging at her mound, mixing its moisture with hers. She arches against him, feeling the delicious slide as the shaft parts her folds. 

“I have condoms,” she says breathlessly. Her fingers are on his face, caressing. He raises his eyebrows, his tongue flicking across his lips. She feels her cheeks flushing hot. “What? I was tired of waiting.”

He smiles, his eyes crinkling. “You’re such a dork.” 

She shoves his shoulder, then kisses him again, swift and searing, before leaning over the bed to pull a little foil packet from her nightstand. 

Ben straightens and Rey follows him up, her legs spread wide around him. She tries not to feel self-conscious. 

She tears into the packet and takes the condom out. She’d practiced putting them on bananas in Sex Education, but the prospect of putting this one on Ben suddenly seems far more intimidating than she’d imagined. 

She gives a little sigh of relief when he takes it from her. He hunches his shoulders as he rolls it on. Her eyes follow his movements. 

Then it’s on, and this is it. 

Her heart is pounding a chaotic beat against her sternum. From the apprehensive look on Ben’s face, she guesses he’s reverberating with the echoing tattoo. She puts her hand down and wraps it around his cock, stroking him the way he’d shown her. The texture is all different now, tacky and not at all like the warm silk of his skin which she’d loved so much. Still, his reaction is the same—the soft groan, the parting of his lips, the creasing of his brow—and that’s what matters to her.

She lies back. Ben moves with her and holds himself above her. His arms are shaking, his muscles corded. Gently, she guides the tip of him to her core. The press of him at her entrance is new and scary and exciting. She nudges her hips upwards and he notches inside her.

“Christ.”

Rey hiccups a laugh. “I don’t think he’s here right now.”

Ben huffs too, the sound throaty and hoarse, but it’s cut short when she closes her legs around him and digs her heels into his ass. He jerks forward. His cock slides inside her a couple of inches and she can’t help her little cry at the sensation of being filled, stretched, joined to him. She smothers the sound with her hand, her eyelashes fluttering out of control.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” she says, “fuck, yes.” His breath mists on her cheek. Her fingers dig into his shoulder, and she squeezes her legs tighter. Ben shifts, finding a better angle, then pushes forward. He slides in easily on her arousal, rooting himself deep inside her. 

It’s almost a relief. A correction. The other half of him, he’d called her. And she feels it now: complete. She’s a puzzle piece that has found its pair.

She rolls her hips against him, feeling him move inside her, and whimpers. “Please, Ben, move!” She’s not above begging.

He swallows, then he acquiesces. 

Nothing could have prepared her for the way it feels to have him thrusting into her, burying himself deep, and drawing back, only to do it over again. And again, and again. She knows she needs to be quiet. Rationally, she knows that. Their family can’t hear them. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen between them after tonight. Maybe there will be a day where they don’t have to hide in the darkness, but that isn’t tonight. And yet she can’t keep the keening moans from tumbling from her lips. With every stroke, he hits a place deep inside her she never knew existed. It turns her legs to jello and her brain to soup. 

Above her, Ben looks focused, like he’s determined to concentrate and get this right. She wants to tell him he’s doing amazing, that it _feels_ amazing, but words evade her. Instead, she squeezes and kisses and caresses. She fills her hands with his silky hair and tugs. She whimpers her pleasure into his ear, nuzzling his face as she rocks her hips to meet his thrusts.

At some point, she pushes him over and climbs atop him, sinking back down until he’s sheathed in her. He sits up, sliding his arms around her, and helps lift her as she moves. His back curves, his lips finding her nipple, and sparks race through her veins.

“Oh my god, yes, Ben, oh fuck.” She’s unintelligible. She doesn’t care. Her arms are around his neck, her lips on his forehead. Beneath her, his rhythm stutters. He’s hardly thrusting now, just undulating his hips, holding her down on him and grinding. Her cunt throbs around him.

“Rey, I—” 

She moans at the sound of her name, her real name on his lips. It’s so different from the last time he’d said it. She clenches hard around him. 

“Oh fuck!” He pulls her down tight against him, burying his face in her neck. His cock is pulsing. He’s cumming. She made him cum. The most wonderful sense of euphoria spreads through her with the knowledge.

“Shit,” he says. He sounds broken. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t—”

“Are you kidding?” Rey twists her fingers in his hair and pulls his face up so she can look into his eyes. “That was incredible.” She crushes her lips to his, fierce and raw.

“You didn’t cum,” he says when she lets him go.

She gives a breathy laugh, shaking her head at his stupidity. “So we’ll do it again later.” She waits to see the understanding bloom on his face, before she leans down and kisses him again. 

His cock softens with her lips still locked on his.

Once he’s discarded the condom, she curls herself against his wide chest and pulls the covers over them both. The room feels chilly now that they’ve stopped moving and the sweat is drying on their skin. 

Ben drapes his arm around her shoulder. It’s a familiar position. They’ve slept like this a thousand times, although never naked, and never as thoroughly sated as they are now. Rey rests her cheek on him.

“What are we going to do in the morning?” she asks. Her fingers trace patterns over his chest. 

He shifts his head on the pillow, lifting one hand to comb his hair back from his face. “I’ll go back through the bathroom before breakfast and—” He pauses, looking down at her. “Or... do you mean longer-term?” She gives a small nod. He heaves a breath. “Honestly, I don’t know.” Her gaze falls to the duvet, but he tightens his arm around her and she feels him pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We’ll figure it out.”

She nods. She believes it too. 

The rise and fall of his chest grows regular beneath her cheek. It’s a soothing rhythm, made all the more soporific by the gentle brush, back and forth, of his fingertips on her bicep. There are still four hours until dawn, a further two until anyone will expect them downstairs: enough for her to close her eyes for a while and still have time for Round Two.

There’s a moment of silence, long and lazy and content, in which there’s just the thud of his heartbeat and hers. And she knows a lot has changed. She can feel it, not just in the pleasant ache between her legs, but deep inside her as well. Because she knows what she wants now, and tonight has taught her that she only has to be brave enough to reach for it. They live in a world of possibilities, and when the morning comes, they’ll find a way to grasp them together.

Her eyelashes flutter, growing heavy. 

“Goodnight, Ben,” she breathes.

“Goodnight... Rey.”


End file.
